


Closed In

by moonwillow27458



Series: Things I posted on tumblr at 2am [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 19:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonwillow27458/pseuds/moonwillow27458
Summary: On a case, Sam and Dean get trapped on opposite sides of a door. They have a conversation through it.





	Closed In

The door between Dean and him snapped shut. Sam only had a second to react, trying to yank the door open but it remained closed. On the other side, Dean was beating the wood mercilessly, but the damn thing wouldn’t move. They were stuck. Sam rattled the door handle once more before giving up. He slid to the floor and buried his face in his hands. He heard Dean grunt, but he’d stopped hitting the door.  
“I’ll get us outta here, Sammy, I promise.”  
Sam hummed. He had no doubt Dean would; all Dean had done their entire life had been saving Sam, over and over again. There wasn’t much Sam could do anyway. The room he was in was empty except for a rotting chest of draws in the corner. He didn’t even have so much as a shot gun on him, only his pistol. There wasn’t even a window on the wall. He was well and truly stuck.  
The floorboards creaked as Dean paced around the room. From the sounds of it, the other door in the room had locked as well, leaving Dean just as trapped as Sam. After a few minutes, Dean plonked down on the other side of the door. Sam could feel his weight pressing against it, and leaned into the feeling.  
“I think we’re stuck,” Dean huffed.  
“Yeah, no shit.” Sam pulled out his phone, a little bit of light in the dim room. An old picture of Jessica was still his wallpaper and he found himself holding in a breath as he tried not to cry. It didn’t help.  
“Sammy, you okay,” Dean asked.  
“I’m fine,” he said with a wobbly voice. He heard Dean curse and bang on the door once more.  
“You’re not fine, Sam, stop kidding yourself!” He snapped. There was a heavy pause in the air and all the dust seemed to settle in Sam’s lungs. Dean sighed. “Look, you gotta tell me what’s going on in that head of yours. Keeping it in’s gonna kill you.” Sam doubted that, but his sleepless nights were starting to make dizzy days. To be fair to Dean, he couldn’t remember the last time he stood up and didn’t have a head rush.  
“Dean, it doesn’t matter, okay, I’m dealing.” Lies. Liar. It was all bullshit, but he be damned if he burdened Dean yet again.  
“Dealing my ass,” Dean muttered. “When was the last time you ate something? Protein bars don’t count.” Sam grimaced.  
“Look, it’s hard to explain, okay?“   
Sam had tried fighting through the jumbled mess inside his head. He tried to remove all the memories of Jess and his life at Stanford. He’d stopped thinking about how angry his Dad had been with him. Everything was still fuzzy. It was like a ball of yarn had been woven and knotted and everything was connected and nothing mad sense. The acid in his stomach hissed at him, his muscles tightened in a well practiced agony.  
"Just try, Sammy.”  
Sam breathed deeply. “Hunting again, it’s killing me, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m out of practice or because I miss Stanford or just because I’m not over Jess. I’m just so tired all the time, and I feel sick, and it’s like I’m running on coffee and frustration. I haven’t been able to breathe properly since the fire, Dean, it’s like the smoke’s still in my lungs."   
He let the tears fall to the ground. It was the first time in a few days he’d felt something other than emptiness; even if it wasn’t nice it was something.  
"Sammy, I…” Dean’s words faltered him. It was a first, his brother always had something smart to say, and on the odd occasion some good advice. This was why Sam hadn’t wanted to talk to him. What could Dean say that would make any of it better. “Sam, I’m gonna get us out of here okay? And then we’re gonna go out, grab some food and talk all this through properly.  
"I’m not having you running on fumes, Little Brother.” Dean sounded determined, almost as if they weren’t stuck in a dilapidated house. Almost as if grief was an quick fix. Sam smiled despite it. Dean was a good brother, even if Sam would never admit it out loud.  
The was a crashing sound, like a million shards of glass falling to the floor. Dean must have put something through the window. Sam rolled his eyes but he was grateful. Maybe they weren’t so closed in after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading I hope you enjoyed!


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